The Truth is Rarely Pure and Never Simple
by GoingVintage
Summary: Rachel Berry is nothing like Quinn Fabray, right?  A hard lesson in truth-telling.  For my LiveJournal fictable prompt #50 - truth.  ONESHOT.


**Note: **For my LiveJournal fictable prompt #50 - truth.

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Rachel's worked every day of her life to show that she is different. Unique. Even a genuine one-of-a-kind. At the start of that summer weekend, before she's done things that she can't take back, she prides herself on the fact that she's the exact opposite of her rival, Quinn Fabray, in every possible way. Rachel always does the right thing and would never intentionally hurt someone. She's not Quinn. She's _nothing _like Quinn.

The Friday that changes everything starts out like any other Friday during the summer between her junior and senior year. Rachel gets up, gets on her elliptical and works up a thin sheen of sweat before climbing into a cool shower. After that, she heads to voice lessons and then to the mall to do some shopping. She puts far too much money on her daddy's credit card and smiles as she does it. Her lunch consists of a vegan strawberry smoothie as she window shops in the chilly expanse of the mall. Then she's off to her monthly waxing appointment before heading home to hang up her new purchases in the closet. After a late afternoon nap, she gives herself a pedicure and curls her hair. She pulls out the new, bright-red strapless lace bra she'd purchased earlier in the day and slides it on, admiring the way it cups her curves in the mirror. She thinks it makes her breasts looks lightly bigger and she knows Finn will appreciate it. Then she pulls out the matching thong and pulls it on, loving the way it feels against her freshly-waxed skin. Her hand glides across her bare mound as she situates the thong and she feels the nearly ever-present ache between her thighs start to throb. It was like the summertime flipped an internal switch and something about the sultry heat makes her think of sex more than she ever has before. She _needs _this date tonight.

Once she's in her new lingerie, she turns and looks at her profile in the mirror, admiring the total package. She's not conceited or anything but she knows she keeps her body in excellent condition and it shows. After she slides her new black and white summer sundress on, she slides her feet into her red, strappy, heeled sandals and brushed on some mascara. And then she waits.

At 7:15, she sends him a message. _[What time are you coming? I'm ready.]_

He calls under a minute later and is apologetic and upset that he forgot about their date. She thinks about reminding him that they go on a date every Friday night but she bites her tongue instead and tells him to have a nice time camping with Burt before she hangs up.

Twenty minutes later, she's standing in front of a small, non-descript house four streets over from her own. She knocks on the door like she has a hundred times before and waits. When he pulls it open, he looks a little stunned.

"Rachel?" Puck asks curiously.

Rachel barely notices the beer in his hand or the sound of explosions on the television because he's standing in his doorway wearing board shorts that hang low off his hips and nothing else.

"Rachel?" he asks again, smirking this time because her eyes have settled on his bare chest.

Her head shoots up and she blushes. "I'm sorry for showing up unannounced, Noah…but my date was cancelled and I was bored… And what are you doing home on a Friday night anyway?"

"I had a headache," he tells her. "But it's gone now and I'm just not in the mood to go anywhere. Too fucking hot." He pushed the door open. "Wanna come in?"

She nods and steps past him, breezing into his home. She walks into the living room and tosses her purse down on the couch, kicking off her heels. Puck crosses his arms as he watches her and a smirk crosses his lips when he realizes how comfortable she is in his house. They're friends…they have been for a while. Finn's never been exactly happy about the fact that they hang out (even if he and Puck are friends again) but Rachel's made it clear that she will be friends with whomever she pleases.

She freezes when a huge breast flashes across the 56" screen. Puck looks over at the TV and laughs.

"Are you watching pornography?" she asks, her cheeks flushed when she sees a mouth open and then close around a puckered nipple. Her mouth opens and she tries not to watch the scene in front of her but she finds herself enraptured by the blatant sexuality on the screen. She ignores the throbbing ache that's suddenly back with a vengeance.

Puck shakes his head. "Nah…just some stupid Bruce Willis movie. Things gotta explode and then he's gotta bang some hot girl. Obviously, shit just blew up 'cause now he's all over the chick."

Rachel glances back at the screen and watches as the woman arches her back, obviously in the throes of a simulated orgasm. She flushes again and Puck, ready to put her out of her misery despite the fact that it's totally fucking hot to see her get worked up, asks, "You want me to turn it off?"

She shakes her head and sits down on the couch. "Not at all. I've interrupted your evening enough as it is. Please continue to watch. It doesn't bother me."

Puck drops back down on the couch and sits right next to her instead of on the opposite end. The hair on his leg rubs against hers and she feels it acutely. He has more hair on his arms and legs than Finn but it somehow feels softer. She wonders why she's comparing the two and then shifts her leg away slightly so that they're no longer touching. Puck takes a pull from his beer bottle and offers Rachel a sip. When she declines with an adamant shake of her head, he smiles and takes another sip. Of course she wouldn't drink. He's been trying to get her to drink all summer and she never gives in. He respects it but keeps hoping that one of those times, she'll take him up on his offer. He's pretty sure she'd be an adorable drunk and his gut tells him that she may be one of those drunks that miraculously sheds clothing.

Soon, things are exploding again and there are no more bare breasts and Rachel relaxes. She kicks her legs out in front of her, propping them up on the coffee table next to his. He admires her painted toes and she wiggles them at him. Her dress has ridden up to mid-thigh and as much as instinct tells her to push it down, she leaves it because she Puck keeps peeking at her legs out of the corner of his eye and she keeps catching him. And she likes it. In fact, she shifts in her seat slightly just so that the skirt rides up a little bit more. He turns his head and blatantly looks down at the skin she has on display. It's all bronzed and seems to shimmer and he gives her an appreciative look before tearing his eyes away to look back at the screen as Bruce shoots some poor dude in the face. As she toys with the hem of her skirt, she realizes that she's acting completely wanton but she really doesn't care at the moment. She had a romantic evening planned for her boyfriend, who decided he wanted to go camping with his stepdad instead. Now she's left with a new outfit, new lingerie that she can feel rubbing against her skin, and an ache inside her body that won't go away. She won't be hurting anyone by flirting a little before she goes home and rids herself of the burn deep inside of her.

When the movie goes off, Puck gets up and pops the DVD out of the player and puts it back in the case. She finds herself watching the way his shorts curve over his backside. She tilts her head to the side and grins. He's always had such an incredible body. She can see the muscles flexing in his arms and back as he reaches out to grab another DVD. When he's got it in the player, he turns around quickly and catches her staring at him. He smirks at her and sits back down, slapping a hand on her knee.

She thinks about reminding him that it's inappropriate to be touching her but realizes that it would be hypocritical since she's been inviting his gaze since she got there. Besides, the heat from his hand sinks into her skin, travels up her thigh, and mixes with the pulse that's been there for hours and it makes her need more of that heat. So she places her hand on top of his and links their fingers together slightly. He looks down for a second and then glances back up at the television but doesn't move his hand.

She, however, moves it for him. She slides it up slowly until it's about six inches higher than where it had originally landed. He doesn't look at her but his fingers dig into her skin and he squeezes the taut flesh. She shivers because it sends fire through her body and she shifts, pushing his hand up even higher.

"Rachel? What are you doing?"

His question pulls her out of her haze and she looks up at him, quickly moving her hand from off of his. His hand stays where it is.

"I—I don't know, exactly," she admits, then she shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Noah... I don't know what came over me. I'm just so mad at Finn. I had this special evening planned and he didn't even remember. It just makes me so frustrated and angry and..."

"...and begging to be fucked," he tells her point-blank.

She wants to deny it but she can't, even if him saying the words solidifies absolutely _everything _roiling around inside her. She feels the index finger of the hand that is high on her thigh flick out and rub against her stomach and she shudders, her head falling back.

"We can't do this, you know," he says even as his finger strokes across the red lace covering her body. It hooks inside the elastic of the thong and pulls the fabric out slightly, releasing the tautness to give him some maneuvering room.

"We're not doing anything," she says, her voice breathy. She presses her hand against his wrist to intensify the contact and her lips fall open in a silent moan when a long finger parts the wet flesh beneath the new, pretty red lace.

Minutes later, when he's sliding the straps of her dress off her shoulders and running his hands over her bare skin, she closes her eyes and wills herself to breathe. This is still innocent. She can still stop. She just needs to feel remembered...like she matters more than a camping tent and a night around the fire.

When he pulls her up off the couch and picks her up, carrying her up to his bedroom with her legs around his waist and her lips against his temple, she still tells herself that nothing serious is going to happen. Noah is just _so good _at making her feel wanted.

When he pushes her dress to the floor and cups her breasts through the red lace, he nips at her neck and whispers that she's even more perfect in reality than she is in his fantasies. If she was thinking straight, she'd pull back and ask him about those fantasies. But instead, she just moans and presses his head tighter to her body, relishing the way the heat of his skin causes the burning ache between her legs to spark into a full conflagration.

When he presses a kiss to her hip bone as he helps her step out of her thong, the only thing she lets herself think is that he makes her feel beautiful.

When he slicks his tongue over the smooth skin between her thighs, she forgets everything but the fact that the ache that was manageable is now out of control and if he doesn't squelch it soon, she may literally incinerate.

And later, when it's all over, he lets go of her long enough to throw away the condom and then she's back in his arms. She wraps her limbs around him, clinging to his sweaty skin, and expects to feel guilt creep into her brain. When it doesn't, it makes no sense to her so she begs him to hold her.

He finally lets go hours later. She untangles herself from his body, kisses his lips, and tells him that she'll call him when she figures some things out.

By Sunday night, she's analyzed the situation in a myriad of ways. Bar graphs and pie charts about the pros and cons of her actions are all over her laptop but she knows that at the end of the day, she has to go with what her heart says, not what Excel guides her to through a thorough analysis.

She spreads out on her bed and tells herself that it would be so easy to pretend it didn't happen. She knows Noah won't say anything. She knows that she could simply go back to the way things were because, after all, it only happened because she was mad, right? And it was only once. A lot of people have done things once that they never talk about again and no one ever gets hurt. It didn't mean anything, anyway.

Except she knows that's a lie. She knew when he opened the door without a shirt on that she was going to do something completely uncharacteristic before the night was over and that when she did it, it would mean _something_. It's the reason she went to Noah's house in the first place – he's the one she turns to when she needs to feel less like herself. So when Finn shows up at her house while she's still mid-analysis, apologetic and with flowers, she quickly closes her laptop and smiles at him. She refuses to take the flowers from his hands, shakes her head, and says, "I did something... I need you to know."

She tells him that she cheated on him and that she had sex with another boy. He looks shocked and the flowers slowly slide out of his hands and toward the floor as he stares at her. He wants to know who she cheated with and she tells him that who isn't important, just _why_. She's not happy...she hasn't been happy. He wants to know _who, _asking again and again, and she finally tells him that he doesn't know the boy. When he leaves, their relationship is over and she feels the guilt that she should have felt on Friday night when she was moaning Noah's name and begging him to go harder, deeper.

She shows back up at Noah's house not long after Finn leaves. He doesn't expect to see her again so soon and he's actually outside washing his truck when she arrives. When his eyes fall on her, he drops the water hose and walks toward her.

"I told him," she says. His eyes dart around nervously because he's pretty sure he's about to be decked again. "But I didn't tell him it was with you," she adds.

She presses her head to his chest and his arms wrap around her waist. He tucks her head under his and they stand there, the mosquitoes and lightning bugs buzzing around them, as they both wonder what's next.

Later, when they're in his bed again and she's fully sated but Noah's still peppering her skin with hot kisses and dirty words, she realizes that it's these two boys, Finn and Noah, that made Quinn do crazy things. Now, nearly two years later, Rachel can no longer judge Quinn because she understands. She _has _to. Those same two boys have sent her down a similar path: one promising love and happiness with his words while the other promises things unspoken with his body.

In the end, she learns that telling the truth is sometimes a lot harder than she imagines it will be. But when Noah kisses her and tells her that she should have been his a long time ago, she accepts that, sometimes, the truth comes out in bits, a piece at a time, until it's all out in the open. Really, she knows that the truth can never be concealed forever. She admits that eventually (and probably much sooner than later), Finn will find out she cheated with Noah and that their friendship will evaporate again, probably for good this time. But the truth is that right now, with Noah's heavy weight pressing against her and his lips doing wicked things to her collarbone, she doesn't care. And that makes her _exactly _like Quinn Fabray.

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**Note:** Yeah, I know…I've been making poor Finn the brunt of my abuse lately. I actually like Finn. He's just a very handy pawn to use in my ultimate goal of Puckleberry unification. Sorry, Finn!


End file.
